One Year Ago Today I Lost My Leg

Today marks one year.

I can feel it in the long hot days.

I can feel the floor hard against my body last July 11th – unable to move my leg, unable to stand, trying to breathe through pain as excruciating as childbirth.

And I can feel the last time I ran.

It is there every day, the memory of my feet pounding in graceful rhythm, my heart beating, arms pumping. That last run is there when I don’t want to show up for PT, when I want to curl up in bed instead of strap on my leg brace while I make breakfast and then leave the house in a wheelchair. And every other run is with me, to the beach and back, around the neighborhood, in states across the country, not for prizes or times, but just because it is how I moved with joy.

Running is how I prayed.

When I was first pregnant living in a tiny Florida town perched outside a military airfield, hoping with all the rest of the wives that our husbands’ training aircraft didn’t fall out of the sky… Then other expectant mamas would commiserate how they couldn’t wait to have a glass of wine, be able to see their feet again, and slip into their jeans. I kept it to myself that what I missed most of all was a brisk run through the palm bushes and pine trees. My nine pound son didn’t take long to swell my frame to something I couldn’t recognize much less propel into a jog.

I hadn’t been prepared for how disabling and disfiguring bringing new life into the world would be, and I wonder when I said goodbye to the body of my girlhood. It didn’t happen all at once, but instead incrementally as I left the hospital still seemingly seven months pregnant, as my breasts spilled, my stomach sagged, and my schedule came to revolve around someone so fragile that it was my responsibility to simply keep him alive. Then there were deployments, stillbirths, emergency c-sections, diapers, miscarriages, and every-day-life as a mom to four.

After each birth I would wait the prescribed amount of time and then my feet would begin to beat the pavement again in a pattern of tentative running and restorative walking. I would run and walk in patterns that eventually led to being able to easily glide miles, and then I would feel I was home again within myself.

Choosing not to resent the skin sliding farther down my abdomen with every child born, I instead praised my body for another miraculous creation and thanked it for continuing to run.

With my legs still spinning I didn’t realize I had said goodbye to a part of me. Dreams and I were still acquainted, but I felt they were for another time – later when I was less needed. That was ok with me, because it was enough to feel the air push in and out of my chest and see the cadence of my knees raised and soles placed, hold my children close, and enjoy my front row seat to the magic of their growing years.

I feel all of that in this summer air, muggy and sun-drenched like the breathe I pumped in and out on my last run.

A little over a year ago.

Now I am disabled and the list of what I’m unable to do has grown to include such mundane tasks as walking. Running is a far distant memory whose hope lingers on the horizon as a painful but motivating reminder of what I have lost and what I still long for.

The calendar says July 11^th, and I know now that is all I am given. Today.

I can plan, hope, and train, but I do not know if tomorrow will come or what it may bring. So it is up to me to rise each morning, love well those in my life, and lay hold of a bit of my dreams right here and now.

I know from what I have journeyed through in these forty years of mine that grieving is essential, but it is also up to me to search for joy – Every. Single. Day.

I have learned that the word disabled connotates what I can’t do, and it’s a necessary distinction when functioning in a body that isn’t able to do what the majority of bodies can do. A body that has been altered to a shadow of what it had been.

But as I shared in another post, when something so essential as walking is taken away you have to find what you can do. You have to adapt and focus on what can be done. (The post you are reading now is part two of how I feel about adaptivity versus disability, click link above to read part one)

It is this adapting that has shown me that truly there is no limit, and there is always joy in every part of our journey just waiting for us to uncover and celebrate.

Driving by the spot where I went for my last run always hits me in the gut, but my arms can now pull my body up strong. Pull-up after pull-up when I used to not even be able to do one.

Looking at past pictures of myself standing tall without a wheelchair, crutches, or a leg brace can sink my heart, but I no longer feel the need to offer mental apologies for my motherhood deflated figure or even my wheels. I am here, and that is a treasure so valuable and transient that I have no time to waste on anything less than acceptance and seeking joy.

Now that the term disabled applies to my experience, the only way to survive has been to find each and everything that I can do, that I want to do.

I can’t make it all happen right now. I am a mother and wife which also translates into chauffeur, teacher, nurturer, cleaner, cook, schedule administrator, diaper changer, tea-party guest, listener, grocery shopper and so much more that I wouldn’t miss for the world.

Something has changed though. Each morning I wake up and ask myself… What do I want to do today? How can I make that happen? What can I do?

If disabled focuses on what can’t be done, then adaptive focuses on what can be done.

There are days that grief settles in, when I just want to feel my legs running, be able to set the physical pain aside, not have to answer another prying question, stop evaluating excursions for their accessibility or clothing for their ability to fit with my leg brace. There are days that I sink a bit, but I know that my heart will rise again…

Because this past year has opened my eyes to human bravery and adaptivity. There are others living without any limbs; others facing each day knowing that a disease will rob their bodies as it slowly progresses and steals away movement, speech, thought. There are others battling cancer and fighting to recover from strokes. There are young and old embracing each and every day no matter what it holds, adapting and finding ways to adventure on. 

So although this year has been harder than I could possibly describe, and I sit here knowing the future may look very similar…

In spite of that, I don’t have time for too much heartache over what I have lost. I hope and work for healing, but when the doctors tell you they don’t know where the ceiling of recovery will be, that it may be very low, but the sky is the limit on maximizing the rest of your potential…

Well then, you get to work maximizing the rest of your body and soul as if your life depended on it, because your joy does for sure.

I know you friend. I know there is something you can’t do. There are physical limitations, emotional wounds, financial constraints, family dynamics.

But…

I know you friend, and there is so much you can do. There are dreams you have, opportunities you can find, gifts you should share, plans you must make, joy to be found every day in so many ways.

Whatever our circumstances may be, adapting feels crazy. I promise you it will look unlike anything you imagined, but it will be so worth it. And just maybe it will be one step in the direction of reclaiming what has been lost in some way.

We are treasure seekers, looking for God’s goodness and joy amidst even the hardest of circumstances not so we can get an A for lessons learned, but because our Father is here with us in the trenches even when things don’t make sense.

Together we can adapt and adventure on… Tell me friend what are you overcoming, what dreams do you need to dig up, what can you do right now that brings joy?

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Below are some photos and videos of my adaptive adventures with my family this year. What you can’t see are the countless hours spent at physical therapy and navigating the medical world and insurance, the pain, tears, sleepless nights, mortifyingly awkward social moments, and more that has been so hard for the past 365 days and will continue to be a challenge. But below is what I want to celebrate from this year, because not only has God kept my family and I together and moving, but we have met so many amazing people and organizations who give of themselves so that when faced with disability people can learn new ways of embracing life instead of giving up. And if you want to read more about my journey this year you can click here.

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Mono-skiing while my kids skied and snowboarded through the United States Adaptive Recreation Center on Big Bear mountain. IG @usadapt >Ice skating on wheels at the Liberty Station fundraiser for Rady’s Children’s Hospital >Kayaking in the rain with REI and my hubby >Horseback riding through Ivey Ranch. In the past I competed through 4-H and at the collegiate level, and I can’t wait to introduce Joy to riding >Hiking some of the awesome accessible trails around San Diego with my family >Completing the Renegade Memorial Day 5k Race with my family, on crutches with my leg in a sling >Celebrating after my first time successfully off-roading on crutches with my leg in a sling >Camping with my family by the beach in a great accessible site with wheels, crutches, and a leg brace >Surfing at an adaptive clinic put on by Challenged Athletes Foundation and Ironman Foundation, and getting inspired by the Team Wattie Ink ladies to start participating in triathlons to fill that hole that not being able to run has left in my heart >Swimming masters swim several times a week to train for triathlon relays and eventually full triathlons as Challenged Athletes Foundation sets me up with adaptive gear to use. IG @cafoundation >Competing in my first triathlon relay at the San Diego Triathlon Series thanks to a grant from Team Catapult. I swam a kilometer, my friend biked 20k since Jesse was out of town for military training, and my son David ran 10k. It was an awesome experience and I can’t wait for the next one!  IG @team_catapult >These are super quick video clips of me finishing the 5k on crutches, doing a little off-road assent on crutches and mono-skiing on Big Bear mountain >